Cut It Deeper
by That-Fresh-Rain-Smell
Summary: Deep enough to flow the red river through, deep enough to feel the heat anew.


_Cut It Deeper_

Title: Cut It Deeper

Author: That-Fresh-Rain-Smell

Pairing: HP/SS

Warning: Character Death, Self Mutilation, Slash, AU (like the 'Scars' kind)

Summary: Deep enough to flow the red river through, deep enough to feel the heat anew.

A/N: So, mayhap you are all a bit tired of the angst, but I for one, am not, and neither is the person I wrote this for, so there! –Sticks out tongue- 'Cut It Deeper' was requested by, and therefore dedicated to, Kate, my twin (oh, and don't forget; wife…that should confuse you!) So, I will sit here, eating Pokey and drinking Coke (I know, I should drink ramune, but I'm all out! –Cries-) and write this Snarry for her, at one am. –Isn't even tired…yet- Loves you, Kate!

-Kozy

* * *

He climbed the stairs of the third floor carefully, accurately measuring how far behind the boy he should walk. When they had reached the door that once had led to the revolting three headed dog, Potter turned and set upon the next flight of stairs. He was quick to follow, staying in the shadows as he had done so many times before, on so many of the same nights, following exactly this one person. He could do it in his sleep, he was quite sure, but stayed cautious from fear of becoming presumptuous. He did not yet wish to miscalculate, and reveal his presence.

Potter had chosen the stairs that led to the astronomy tower, and He halted at the bottom, unsure. A few options lay before him. Considering that the tower was usually always used for the sexual releases of teenagers, it was very probably that the boy was headed off to do just that.

On the other hand, there were no other towers that were not fully occupied by either teachers quarters, or student quarters, and the Astronomy Tower was the ideal place for anyone to go, whether they intended to pursue sex, stargazing, romance, suicide, or simply have alone time, free from the confines of the indoors—since students were no longer allowed on the outdoor grounds without strict supervision.

Deciding, he stepped upon the bottom step, and climbed his way to the top, eager to catch Potter at something less trivial than wandering about after-hours (though, if nothing else, he would resign himself to taking points for that).

Harry sat with a large thump, leaning against the cold stone wall with a sigh. He had, luckily, chosen one of the colder nights, and the tower was not inhabited by the usual stray couple or lonesome student. There was no one to bother him in the tower, and he found this enjoyable, since all the others had done lately was bother him, criticize him, watch him, and whisper about him.

He withdrew the highly polished piece of metal from his pocket, eyes glinting with the reflected silver edge of the sharp razor. He considered it with a friendly gaze, eyeing every nick and ding with the detail of a lover who looked upon their beloved for the last time.

He had known, of course, that the homophobia ranged far and wide in the wizarding world, as it was in the muggle realm as well. Wizards, by the very magic in them, were more inclined to openness on the subject, but there were still the odd few (purebloods, mostly) who nursed a deep loathing. In the muggle world, it was a bit different; some hated, some liked, and others didn't care. There was more of a variety, sometimes, in some places, and in others, more hatred. All this he knew.

What he hadn't known was how violently his friends and mere acquaintances would react to his own confessions. They had been disappointed to hear he was gay (the girls disappointed, some of the boys hopeful) but to hear who he fancied was beyond their comprehension, and they tore him apart for it.

He brought the razor to his left wrist now, the shiny piece of metal reflecting the scars, new and old. He waited. 10 seconds, 15, 20, and then pressed in, slowly dragging it across his skin with the reverence of someone savoring the finest meal.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone wall, his mind calling forth unbidden memories of the countless dreams and fantasies he had detained of his Professor, finally able to relax under the cold stars.

He jerked when he heard the swish of a cloak, and the tap of feet upon the stone floor. The razor left a jagged mark across his skin, a dripping red link from his wrist to one of the largest cuts on his arm. He shoved the metal in his cloak pocket, promising himself that he would take the careful time to clean it later, and looked around. When he saw who had entered and, most likely witnessed his bloodshed, he nearly threw himself over the side of the wall.

Severus Snape stood in the only entrance or exit to the astronomy tower, looking at his with a raised eyebrow. His eyes followed the movement of his hand as he put the razor hastily away, and he moved swiftly towards Harry, looming over the boy until he got awkwardly to his feet.

"Sir," Harry said shakily, looking up at Snape as the man glared down at him.

"Potter, no only do I find you out of bed past curfew, but I also stumble upon you slicing up your skin with an almost masochistic reverence. If you would indulge, I will not allow you to leave until you have given reason for this inane act," The man said, tone aloof and cool, as always.

"I don't think you have the right to know that, Sir," Harry said, with as much malice as be could muster, his chin jutting out.

"Is that so? I think I have every right to know, as a teacher so _concerned _with your well being" He had made the word 'concerned' sound like a curse, and Harry winced at his tone.

"I've nothing to say," Harry replied, trying and failing to sound as if he were indifferent.

"You _will_ have quite a lot to say, Mister Potter. If you do not comply, I will be forced to resort to Occlumency, and then your secrets will be spilled without preamble, or your consistent stuttering." Harry wanted to argue more, but Snape was already delving into his thoughts.

Harry saw a flash of images that Snape must have also been viewing, and grew steadily more ashamed as they progressed. There was first his prior images on that exact professor, attached to them were his very suggestive thoughts. Next came the scene in the common room where he had confessed his sexuality to his housemates. Then his confession of fancying Snape, and then the following actions thereafter. Snape withdrew, a mask of indifference set upon his face.

"Potter, I have seen many things. I wish for you to explain them by your own words, so I am not left assuming things that were not revealed. Straightforwardly and without hesitation, leave nothing out. I do not with to be here all night; no matter what you may think, our lives do not revolve around you." Harry breathed in, to clear his mind, and nodded.

"My friends, and really, Gryffindor in general, upon hearing I liked men, were either disappointed or happy, depending on their sexual preference. My closer friends were happy that I was okay with it, which was all they really needed to be. When I confided to them who I liked, they…were angered." Harry looked at the still-healing bruises and cuts that littered his body, and his broken fingers of his left hand.

"They….tore me apart, quite literally," Harry laughed with a hoarse edge to it.

"You saw, you saw what they did." He added, as if pleading for Snape not to make him continue.

"Tell me," was the only response Harry received.

"Don't make me say it," Harry whispered, and Snape glowered.

"Say it, Potter! I will not have your emotional mutterings right now!"

"They….beat me, and….raped me…they did what my family did, upon learning the news. I don't see why I expected it to be different, here. The man who killed Dumbledore, after all…" Harry smiled sadly up at Snape, and the other man winced inside. The name still bothered him.

"Then why? _How_ _could you_?" Harry looked down.

"I don't know," he replied honestly enough, refusing to go into details about just what made the man appealing.

"How long, has this…been going on?"

"Fifth year, I think," Harry said, voice still very quiet.

"I see." There was what seemed like a long silence, and then Snape said, in a more quiet, perhaps bordering on gentle voice,

"I must apologize, potter, for without me, you would not have to endure such things." Harry looked up to argue, and wonderment crossed his features as he took in the softened look of his professor's face.

Snape raised his left hand to Harry's cheek, and ran his fingers lightly upon the tanned skin. Harry was startled, but he did not move away, eyes over bright with hope that he shouldn't contain. His long, dark hair brushed Harry's upturned face as he leaned towards him, and his lips tingled as they met him.

After the realization that time did indeed exist, Snape pulled slowly away, fingers lightly grazing Harry's chin.

"You won't be caused harm by me again, Harry," Snape said quietly, and turned to leave. Harry, not quite as dumb as he had always been accused of, grabbed the swirling cloak.

"Wait," he said feebly, eyes scanning his professor for any sign of life. The man, who had moments before held a look so alien to his face that Harry was unsure that it had existed at all, was emotionless once more. Snape stopped at the door, and turned to face Harry, who was now leaning on the wall for support.

"I will leave, and I will not return. You will not see me. You will not harm yourself, and you will not allow others to harm you. You will never be hated because your heart came to unfortunately rest upon me, and you will not be the target of anything negative. This I will see to." And then he was gone, in a swirl of black cloak.

Harry slid down the wall and slumped over his raised knees, all life flooding from his body, but for a glimmer of energy.

He moved his right arm up to cover his face, and realized numbly that there was pain there. He carefully moved his hand over the pocket, and felt the edge of the razor, which had torn through the cloth. Carefully slipping it out, he regarded it with a certain longing. If he could not have Snape, what would he want, what would he live for a glimpse of?

He wouldn't. For the first time since fifth year, he would not do as Snape said; he would not allow Snape to have authority over him, not in this. He placed the razor along his wrist and dug the tip in deep. Slowly, he dragged it across and downward, creating a small, sloping spiral that would leave a nice scar, had he planned to be alive to see it.

Next, crimson droplets flowing swiftly from his left wrist, he clung to the razor with the two good fingers he had left, and shakily drew the same like across his right.

When it was done, he pulled back and relished the feel of a river coursing through and pouring out of him, felt his everything drain away. His fingers slipped in his own blood, and he cut his fingers in trying to get a hold of the razorblade.

He brought it to his lips, the lips of which his heart had just recently kissed, moments before, and slit it clumsily along the line where Severus had traced them before leaving. He then took the razor in his right hand again and shakily drew it across the still-burning paths the man's fingers had drawn on his cheek.

He pushed deeper, and deeper still, trying to create the same heated, cavernous emotion that Snape had formed, tried to replicate the sensation. He couldn't seem to get deep enough. His fingers slipped, and he let his arms fall to his sides, reveling in the feeling of his warm blood pooling around him on the cold stones.

His last conscious thought was whether, had he the strength, if he could cut it deep enough to reach the bottom of the break Severus had opened within him.

* * *

A/N: yes, so I'm quite pleased! I really love the suicide at the end; I haven't really been that descriptive in such a think before! Sorry Kate, for not using the Veritasyrum, but I thought it would be an insult to Snape if he had to resort to potions to get it out of Harry. (Ha, get it out of Harry) _why_ was there no sex? Because, I'm tired.

Oh, and Kate, the earlier action of Snape as in, 'leaving', was too dramatic, you know, for Snape. Though, Sarah claims that Snape is always spazzing on the inside. Can you imagine? Well, let me know, everyone, please. I really like the suicide….why does it have to be so late, for me to come up with these things? I don't know….but whatever. Review?

-Kozy (Two am is the magic number for the finish of these 'shots. Tired and scared. Scared because there's a ghost in here….but no one believes me, so whatever….)


End file.
